CHAPTER 5---NICE GUN
Styx wasn't quite sure what to make of the hard looking dude sitting shotgun in his p.o.s. Idaho. He didn't talk much, just sat there looking out of the window passing the joint back and fourth. Styx was starting to get antsy; he hated silence, it made him terribly nervous. Man, Styx thought to himself, I haven't been this quiet since, well, ever. I wish he would say something. Vegas sat there, poker faced. The jay had burned down to a roach so Styx flicked it into the car's change cup. After about five more blocks into the Mission District, Styx attempted to break the ice.
"So, I guess Jefe is pretty anxious to meet you."
Vegas sat looking straight ahead, not offering a response.
"Word is you're some sort of hardass from Liberty. That right? I've heard some things about you."
Vegas did not budge. Man, what is this dude's problem? He couldn't still be pissed off about forcibly being taken to meet Lobo, could he? Naw, no way. I had to show him that I was for real, not some pussy ass mark. Yeah. Shit was totally necessary.
"Like, they're supposed to call you "Fido"?" Styx chuckled. "How in the hell did you get that nickname?"
Vegas studied his hands.
"C'mon, man, I'm really interested. I've heard some stories. Like that you kept, uh, a kennel, and that, like, uh, if someone fucked with you, you'd sick the dogs on his ass. Yeah?"
Vegas gave him a look, but mum was still the word.
"Dude, at least tell me that. If nothin else. C'mon."
Vegas started to crack his knuckles.
"Alright, chief, I'll tell you why some call me Fido, but I want you to tell me something in return. Tit for tat, so they say."
"Okay, what do you want to know?"
"Lemme see your piece."
Styx threw his head back and laughed.
"You want to see my gat? You're fucking crazy. No way I'm gonna give you a loaded gun. Nuh-uh."
"So take out the clip, Einstein."
Styx considered this. A unloaded pistol? He could still try to whip me with it, but then again, I do have my slapjack in my jacket pocket. I'm covered here, and if it will make this baby happy, why not? Styx pulled over on the corner of 8th and Stone then killed the engine. He felt inside his jacket and pulled an almost-new Beretta nine-millimeter. He popped the clip then handed the gun over to Vegas, hilt first. Vegas turned the gun over, looking it over at different angles, feeling the way it felt gripped in his palm.
"Pretty nice, eh?" Styx said, trying to impress.
"Yeah, but-"
In a flash, Vegas stuck the barrel against Styx's temple.
"What do you think you're doing? The shit's empty, ya fuck!"
Vegas flicked back the hammer.
"Forget about the bullet in the throat?"
Styx paused for a beat.
"You're dreaming." Styx finally managed.
"Bullshit. You just showed me your face card, little man. If someone is pointing an unloaded gun at me, I'd throw down. But if a domeshot is one pull of the finger away, you gotta be cool."
Fuck.
"One shot's all I need, champ. Remember that. Now we're gonna play a little game of Q&A. First, why don't you grab that wheel with both hands, so you're not tempted to maybe grab something from your shitty looking coat and make me shoot you in the face."
Damn. This is bullshit. Weed's not making me think straight. Styx sighed and wrapped both hands around the steering wheel. Fuck, he thought, how could I have forgotten about the bullet I left in the chamber?
"What's your name?"
"Styx. Man, put the gun down."
"Why does your boss want to see me?"
"Man, he wants you working for him. He's heard about your rep in Liberty. And he needs you."
"For what?"
"Dude, that's not really-"
Vegas put a little more pressure on the barrel pushing into the side of Styx's head.
"Alright, fuck! He's gonna want to help in taking out another crew! Shit, dude!"
"Which set are you talking bout?"
"Bunch of Russians."
"And?"
"That's it! That's all I know!" Styx was worn out. "He doesn't exactly tell me much."
Vegas gave him a stare, one that made Styx breathe a heavier, and his stomach dropped to his toes.
"Alright, Styx." Vegas smiled without showing his teeth and pulled the pistol back, then stuffing it into his waistline.
"Right." Styx said, running a nervous hand through his hair. He started the Idaho back up and pulled out onto Stone, heading towards Lobo's.
"Styx."
"What."
"You know what happened to the last person who called me Fido?"
"Huh."
"She doesn't say much of anything anymore."
"Oh."
Styx sulked the remainder of the ride to 20th and wondered how Jefe was going to handle this one.
Styx wasn't quite sure what to make of the hard looking dude sitting shotgun in his p.o.s. Idaho. He didn't talk much, just sat there looking out of the window passing the joint back and fourth. Styx was starting to get antsy; he hated silence, it made him terribly nervous. Man, Styx thought to himself, I haven't been this quiet since, well, ever. I wish he would say something. Vegas sat there, poker faced. The jay had burned down to a roach so Styx flicked it into the car's change cup. After about five more blocks into the Mission District, Styx attempted to break the ice.
"So, I guess Jefe is pretty anxious to meet you."
Vegas sat looking straight ahead, not offering a response.
"Word is you're some sort of hardass from Liberty. That right? I've heard some things about you."
Vegas did not budge. Man, what is this dude's problem? He couldn't still be pissed off about forcibly being taken to meet Lobo, could he? Naw, no way. I had to show him that I was for real, not some pussy ass mark. Yeah. Shit was totally necessary.
"Like, they're supposed to call you "Fido"?" Styx chuckled. "How in the hell did you get that nickname?"
Vegas studied his hands.
"C'mon, man, I'm really interested. I've heard some stories. Like that you kept, uh, a kennel, and that, like, uh, if someone fucked with you, you'd sick the dogs on his ass. Yeah?"
Vegas gave him a look, but mum was still the word.
"Dude, at least tell me that. If nothin else. C'mon."
Vegas started to crack his knuckles.
"Alright, chief, I'll tell you why some call me Fido, but I want you to tell me something in return. Tit for tat, so they say."
"Okay, what do you want to know?"
"Lemme see your piece."
Styx threw his head back and laughed.
"You want to see my gat? You're fucking crazy. No way I'm gonna give you a loaded gun. Nuh-uh."
"So take out the clip, Einstein."
Styx considered this. A unloaded pistol? He could still try to whip me with it, but then again, I do have my slapjack in my jacket pocket. I'm covered here, and if it will make this baby happy, why not? Styx pulled over on the corner of 8th and Stone then killed the engine. He felt inside his jacket and pulled an almost-new Beretta nine-millimeter. He popped the clip then handed the gun over to Vegas, hilt first. Vegas turned the gun over, looking it over at different angles, feeling the way it felt gripped in his palm.
"Pretty nice, eh?" Styx said, trying to impress.
"Yeah, but-"
In a flash, Vegas stuck the barrel against Styx's temple.
"What do you think you're doing? The shit's empty, ya fuck!"
Vegas flicked back the hammer.
"Forget about the bullet in the throat?"
Styx paused for a beat.
"You're dreaming." Styx finally managed.
"Bullshit. You just showed me your face card, little man. If someone is pointing an unloaded gun at me, I'd throw down. But if a domeshot is one pull of the finger away, you gotta be cool."
Fuck.
"One shot's all I need, champ. Remember that. Now we're gonna play a little game of Q&A. First, why don't you grab that wheel with both hands, so you're not tempted to maybe grab something from your shitty looking coat and make me shoot you in the face."
Damn. This is bullshit. Weed's not making me think straight. Styx sighed and wrapped both hands around the steering wheel. Fuck, he thought, how could I have forgotten about the bullet I left in the chamber?
"What's your name?"
"Styx. Man, put the gun down."
"Why does your boss want to see me?"
"Man, he wants you working for him. He's heard about your rep in Liberty. And he needs you."
"For what?"
"Dude, that's not really-"
Vegas put a little more pressure on the barrel pushing into the side of Styx's head.
"Alright, fuck! He's gonna want to help in taking out another crew! Shit, dude!"
"Which set are you talking bout?"
"Bunch of Russians."
"And?"
"That's it! That's all I know!" Styx was worn out. "He doesn't exactly tell me much."
Vegas gave him a stare, one that made Styx breathe a heavier, and his stomach dropped to his toes.
"Alright, Styx." Vegas smiled without showing his teeth and pulled the pistol back, then stuffing it into his waistline.
"Right." Styx said, running a nervous hand through his hair. He started the Idaho back up and pulled out onto Stone, heading towards Lobo's.
"Styx."
"What."
"You know what happened to the last person who called me Fido?"
"Huh."
"She doesn't say much of anything anymore."
"Oh."
Styx sulked the remainder of the ride to 20th and wondered how Jefe was going to handle this one.